


A Wish is a Dream

by likethechesspiece



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethechesspiece/pseuds/likethechesspiece
Summary: She wondered all the time, how life would be different if certain things were realised before it was too late. Thanks to an artifact, that wondering turns into wishing, and that wishing comes true... sort of.Season 4 fix-it, post-Boone, again these two just need to get their acts together.





	1. Part One

She had heard once that the moment a person started wondering if life could be better if some aspect was different, that was the moment that the life they were already living was no longer good. Myka loved her job, and her family – the warehouse family – and how all of it had made her life better; she was happy. But she wondered everyday if life would be better if that one thing was different. If that one thing hadn’t happened, or had been realised earlier, would Myka Bering’s life be better than it already was?

The quieter times were the wondering times for her, and although she loved inventory – and Claudia would hold that against her until her dying day – it was mostly silent as she puttered along checking off artifacts and dodging streams of electric energy bouncing down the aisles. Such quiet, her mind echoed a certain British voice, offered a lady time to think. Myka would excite herself with Shakespeare’s lost folio, or Mata Hari’s stockings, but occasions would arise where she passed the H.G Wells aisle, or was only one aisle away from the H.G Wells aisle, or had not visited the H.G Wells aisle in the last hour, and so her mind would wonder.

She would think of Helena’s grappler, and then of the post-it note she kept beside her bed, stuck to the inside of her drawer should Claudia or even Pete end up in her room without her there to protect it. She would think of Helena’s locket and then frown at herself for grasping at her own chest, void of any necklace or similar object. She would think of the driftwood from the Titanic – not even anywhere near the H.G Wells sector – and would curse jealously at it for having been clutched closer and more tightly to Helena than she had ever been.

And then she would think that she had spent enough time thinking, and would move on.

She crossed to the next aisle, hearing Pete a few down being distracted childishly by some interactive artifact, and wondered how many more inventory checkpoints she would get in before having to save him from getting whammied. She wondered a lot, and finally wondered when it would land her in trouble.

Dusting off the top of a wooden case, small and finely handmade, Myka unhooked its small latch and opened it, revealing the aging velvet that cradled two cufflinks, and a tie clasp. Even with purple gloves, she was adequately content to simply check on its storage without having to touch them. They had caused trouble for her, and pain, yet comparatively not as much pain as Pete had felt at Myka leaving, and still not as much pain as when Helena betrayed them all.

_Betrayed me,_ Myka muttered in her mind. She bowed her head as she closed the case, latching it securely, before pencilling in that those bifurcated artifacts were still where they were meant to be. She took a deep breath in when looking at her list for the next artifact to check off, and only too late realised that the dust from atop that case was now going to be inhaled. So it was, and she sneezed, only just able to tuck her nose into her elbow. She jumped a little on the spot, taken by surprise at how loud she had been, but was quick to shake her head and move on, taking a sniffle with her first step.

She stared intently at her list, clip-boarded to a folder that her hand always too-tightly latched onto, and made her way to the end of the aisle, needing to cross a few over – towards where she had heard Pete – for the next item. At the end of the aisle she needed, she finally looked up and almost collided straight on with Pete. She stumbled a step back as he waved his arms about in attempts to steady her, but she was already gone. She dropped her folder and staggered another step, her feet catching each other, and down she went.

Or at least, down she started to go. She reached out at the last moment to the steady herself, managing to do so, but also knocking free an artifact sitting in its little perch. Artie would have an aneurism if something broke whilst in the warehouse – the place where it was supposed to be safe – and so as she regained her footing, she caught the artifact as well. A small little bone, partially cracked up the middle, and if it hadn’t broken upon hitting the floor, it very well could’ve slipped under the shelving and been lost to the dust and darkness that loomed there forever.

So instead, safely, thankfully, it sat in Myka’s hand that was only slightly cramping from holding the folder so tightly. Her _ungloved_ hand.

“Uh oh,” she muttered upon realising, but having not felt anything odd happen immediately, nor the few moments afterwards where she simply stared at it, she thought herself in the clear. She breathed out a sigh of relief and looked up to Pete. “Thank god we didn’t di...”

Pete was not there.

Hesitantly, she looked about herself, the space in which she stood, shifting her footing, and ducking her head around the corner to see if he was just hiding. He was not, and as she took in a steadying breath to ease the worry that was creeping up on her, she smelt fudge.

“Crap,” she whispered, and carefully turned to even more carefully place the artifact back where it was meant to sit. She had neglected to grab a static bag on her way down to the floor that day, and decided that things should be placed back to where they were, left as such, whilst she headed up to the office to tell Artie that she accidentally whammied Pete onto another plane of existence.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs she bounded up, two steps at a time although her long legs could’ve reached three, and burst through the door with a puff. At that, the loud jarring of the door being opened, two sets of eyes landed on her and she was frozen in her tracks. Both separately warranted questions of the own, but together...

Pete was sitting cross-legged on a crate, and if Myka had looked to Artie’s desk she would have noticed the smaller artifacts that had once sat in it; but she could not, however. Pete was sitting on that crate, and quickly went back to frowning over a chess board that he so obviously did not understand, but was playing it up so that _Helena_ would think he had at least a handful of IQ points.

Helena was staring innocently at Myka, a quirk in her eyebrows at the sudden opening of the door, but clearly happy to see the other woman. “Has inventory kept you so entertained?”

“Wha... what are you doing?” Myka stuttered, her eyes wider than usual, for this could quite literally not be real.

“Playing chess, darling, but I had thought that quite obvious. Please tell me you’re not like Mr Lattimer over here who has never _touched_ a chess board,” and for all intents and purposes, it looked as if Helena was there, still there, part of the team (that got no work done when Artie was out.)

“Of course, I have, but... Artie?”

“Is in Vancouver... with Claudia?”

“And Steve?”

“Mykes,” Pete finally spoke up, rubbing at his eyes. “Who’s Steve?”

As Myka’s frown now deepened in confusion, and Pete seemed to rub his eyes to the back of his head, Helena stepped up from her seat – Artie’s seat, so... was he okay with her sitting on it or...? – and Myka realised. Pete was still here of course, because here wasn’t _here_ , and Myka was the one whammied by the artifact. Of course, now that she thought on it, about how she was the one holding it, it made sense that the small bone had affected her, but what exactly had it done? Thrown her into a parallel universe? Shown her the future even? Her eyes were wide and searching, but not seeing any more at this point, and only when Helena’s hand came to her shoulder did she return.

“Myka, are you feeling alright?”

She looked up into searching eyes that were so familiar to her that it hurt. She had not seen those eyes for months in the flesh, but had dreamed of them most nights and despite her eidetic memory, even that could not capture everything that was the comfortable mystery of Helena’s dark eyes. As she looked into what felt something like home – and her stomach knotted itself at the painful thought – she felt lost all over again. “I don’t know,” she muttered, wishing she could bow her head, but couldn’t. Helena was in front of her.

A moment of regarding and then Helena threw over her shoulder, “Pete, I’m taking her home,” and then he was bounding to their sides. Myka looked at her partner with a half-hearted smile, mostly because her mind was lingering on Helena’s use of the word ‘home.’ She was unsure in that moment, between the gentle touch on her shoulder and the lingering gaze laced with concern if _home_ was the B &B still or if... how much had changed in this world?

“You okay, Mykes?” Pete asked, breaking her train of thought and resting his hand on her other shoulder.

“Just tired?”

“Hopefully you haven’t been whammied,” he half-joked, because it was never fully an option that was off the table. “I’ll finish your inventory, yeah? And come check on you later.” He patted her shoulder and left for the floor, grabbing a static bag out of Artie’s desk drawer, and Myka laughed ironically at it, although she couldn’t quite pin-point as to why. She had almost laughed at Pete suggesting she’d been whammied, for it was indeed that, but as she stayed in this world, she began to find herself forgetting small things about the real one, and quickly.

Helena’s hand left her shoulder, and she could feel its absence bitterly – rather like the woman’s absence entirely from Myka’s _other_ life – and crossed the room to grab her coat that she kept on the coat stand, as well as Myka’s. “Come on, you,” she said once she had pulled hers on. Myka was still stuck in her half-frozen position across the office, and despite not actually being sick or tired in any way, she thought that she would greatly appreciate a minute to lie down.

She crossed slowly to Helena, accepting the offer to help her get her coat on, and when Helena rounded to face her and fix her collar, she felt herself slip further into this world, and again, further into Helena. The bombs that lined the umbilicus had long lost their danger factor in Myka’s mind – logically they were still dangerous but after passing them multiple times a day, they became sort of neutral to her – and now they seemed even more passive in comparison to Helena and what she could do. Because Myka could remember quite distinctly still that Helena had attempted ended the world, although with what... it was fading... and then the front door to the warehouse was opening and a cold wind was beating against them. The car was parked only a few paces away but once Helena had pushed the door closed, she linked her arm with Myka, melding them closely as they walked them towards the SUV.

Their jackets were bulky and crisp woollen, but Myka could only feel fading now. She would ask herself what she felt fading, but she did not know, and she would wonder why, but could hardly form a cohesive thought, let alone a question for herself to decipher with Helena so tightly close to her. The other woman painfully extracted her arm from Myka’s as they reached the car and unlocked it, so the two of them could jump inside and warm up. “I hope Leena has the B&B nice and warmed up,” Helena said, staring the ignition and immediately turning the dials of the car’s heater, causing a sudden blast of air to come out and dry Myka’s lips. She licked at them – _home_ is the B &B, she registered, but still... Helena was a part of that home – and buckled herself in, before resting her hands nervously on her lap. “Not too cold?” Helena asked as she did her own seatbelt up.

“A little,” Myka answered with a shuddery breath. It had not yet begun to snow in South Dakota, but the foreshadowing winds showed that the season would be an exceptionally cold one. Almost like another ice age, Myka’s mind said, and it held some sort of significance, but she couldn’t place it. Before she could think any more on that, Helena was leaning over the centre console to rub her hands down Myka’s arm and across her knees.

The friction in itself was not enough to warm Myka up, but the contact, even through a thick coat and jeans, sent a flush around Myka’s body and up her neck. She swallowed thickly, only now wondering if Helena was not simply _part of the team_ , but if she and Myka alone were something more.

The drive back to Leena’s – because it still was Leena’s; she was still alive and Myka was mentally preparing her emotions for when she walked in the door and was met with the sweetest smile she had ever seen – was quiet, save the blasting of the heater until they reached Univille and Myka was working up a sweat. She had barely moved, but finally reached over to turn the heat and intensity down, and saw Helena smile thankfully. “Were you getting hot?”

“A little, I must admit,” the other woman confessed.

“Why didn’t you turn it down, then?” Myka laughed, seeing Helena wipe at her forehead.

“I wasn’t sure you were warm enough yet,” and the two of them laughed as they drove up the drive. As she looked out the window, the winds seemed to be picking up and so as soon as the car was stationary, Myka leapt from the car and ran to the front door. She held it open just long enough for Helena and her wildly tousled hair to enter as well, before closing it. She turned to the other woman, stifling a laugh as she went and attempted to brush the hair from Helena’s face, but to no avail. It was too messed and knotted already. “Well, I am glad that you are in better spirits than when we left the warehouse,” Helena quipped, removing her jacket.

“I am,” and wondering was no good anymore; she was barely remembering why she was trying to remember. “But a bit cold again.” She draped her coat over the balustrading of the staircase next to Helena’s, smiling at the her as she was taking a moment to breathe before moving off into the B&B.

“Tea?” the other woman asked, and Myka nodded. _This_ she could remember; Helena making them tea and then relaxing in the solarium, or the lounge room on opposite ends of the couch.

“So...” Myka later began, as Helena handed her a mug, steamy and sweet, and they settled on the couch. A stack of old leather-bound books sat on the coffee table and once Helena was comfortable, she reached over and grabbed one that had a white ribbon sticking out of it.

“So?” Helena echoed, looking up from her now open page.

“Do you like it here?” Myka asked shyly, because she couldn’t remember some things and was simply unsure of others, as if she hadn’t lived them.

“Why do you ask?” Helena asked with a small smile.

“I just mean that... well, you’ve been here a while and... I don’t know, I guess I wanna know if you’re happy.” She felt as if she was just embarrassing herself at this point, and reached over to the books. One at the bottom looked older, more used, with splayed pages and ink stains along the outside edges of pages. She placed her tea down and jostled it out from the stack, careful not to let the remaining books spill her drink, then leaned back into the couch again and regarded the book.

“That’s my old diary,” Helena said, as if she were surprised for it to be in the pile, yet also meant for Myka to grab it.

“Oh, I...”

“No, you can read it. If anyone was to read it, I would want it to be you,” and Myka looked over to Helena at that. “It’s filled with so many old thoughts and feelings, almost as if they belonged to another person, but,” and Helena took a steadying breath. “I want you to know all that I am, or was, in this case.” An awkward little smile followed at that, and she turned her attention back to the book in her own lap.

“Why?”

Helena looked up, meaningfully and with so much warmth in her eyes, on her face, in her soft and subtle smile, and Myka’s heart skipped a beat in anticipation of what she thought, what she hoped might come next. “Because I’m happy here,” and while that wasn’t what Myka’s ear were burning to hear, she was content and satisfied just the same.

Her eyes lay on Helena, just as softly as the other woman’s were on her, until she turned back to her book with the white ribbon being used as a bookmark, and Myka realised – or remembered – that the ribbon belonged to Christina. She knew only of the young girl what Helena had ever told her; little facts here and there, barely enough to even form a personality in her mind, but she had no doubt that the young Christina Wells was but an echo of her mother.

She opened the book, the diary, and smoothed her hand over the first page, written in ink that was more than a century old and did not come from a ball-point pen. Myka always performed that small ritual, enjoying the touch of history that it gave. The entries of Helena’s diary were sometimes short, sometimes many pages, ranging from poetic musings to sketches and wonderings, or even the odd expletive in reference to some man in her life. Each captivated Myka in a way that every book she ever read always seemed to, but this time it held a more personal touch, not only because she knew the person who wrote those things, but because that person was at the other end of the same couch she was curled up on. Because that person was simply one of the most important persons in her life. Because when 1891 Helena wrote some witty comment, and Myka laughed, 21st century Helena asked her to read it aloud, before laughing as well. Because when Myka’s eyes reached the section of Helena’s diary where there were months without entries, and then short entries of lost utterances, the repetition of, “she’s gone,” and, “I tried to change it, to bring her back,” Myka had reached out and placed her hand on the leg of the woman who had written that pain and stained that page with tears.

This wasn’t a book. This was Helena’s life sitting in her lap and she was taking in all the emotion and experiences that had sat so coolly behind that dignified and beautiful woman’s face.

Helena was always right in thinking that reading calmed Myka so, and even though she was feeling much better than she had been when affected by... whatever ailed her at the warehouse, having Helena’s words on her lap and her handwriting and sketches kept her heartrate resounding in her chest and fingertips as she turned each page.

It was several pages after Christina’s death, almost reaching a year Myka could see, that she began to see the same little sketching at the bottom corner of pages. The more pages Myka turned, still enthralled by Helena’s musings, the more she also found her eyes catching onto that same sketch, often accompanied by a few others. Finally, she had seen enough to warrant questioning, as they weren’t simply mindless drawings. They were _something_. “Helena,” she asked, flicking her fingers back through the pages to reach earlier sketches as well before showing the other woman. “What are these?”

She handed the book over, leaning along with it so that she may keep her various locations in the book’s pages, coming to rest right next to Helena, her temple resting on the other woman’s upper arm. “Oh,” was the only word Helena uttered for a while, flicking back and forth and then further into the diary where Myka had not reached yet, but then back to the smaller sketches. After over a minute of simply looking at them, comparing earlier sketches to latter ones, she spoke. “I forgot that I did this. Well, obviously, now I remember, but until you had shown me it had completely slipped my mind.”

“What are they?” Myka asked, enjoying how delicately, yet forcefully Helena had been flipping through pages, and now how softly her fingertips were running across her own words and diagrams.

“After Christina died, I felt lost, not just without her, but well... without a purpose.” She turned her head down for a moment to see that Myka was listening, and saw the other woman was looking up at her too. Her wide green eyes were attentive and caring, and when Helena smiled a little shakily, Myka returned it and brought her hand over to hold the bend of her arm. “Sit up, darling,” she commanded, because Myka’s position looked not at all comfortable.

Curls bouncing around, still a little messy from the wind, Myka sat up and edged herself closer to Helena again and tucked her legs up on the couch. In the mood of caring and support, because she could hear it in the other woman’s voice whenever she mentioned her long gone daughter, Myka brought her hand back again to Helena’s elbow and hooked her fingers around more securely this time.

“I had stumbled onto some old papers, parchment even, in Warehouse 12. Caturanga had asked me to sort some old scriptures and see what information lay within them, and I continued to stumble upon the same few markings; these ones that you see here,” she said, pointing to her diary. “I would write them down when I returned home, because they didn’t at all explain themselves, so that I wouldn’t forget them. Long story short, and believe me,” she said, turning her head to look at Myka, again who she found gazing at her, “it was a very long story. I think Charles imagined that I had moved into the warehouse for a time whilst I became engrossed in this.”

“Long story short...” Myka prompted, for Helena was easily getting herself distracted.

“Yes; I had discovered the way to open the lost warehouse.”

“We lost a warehouse?”

“Warehouse 2, in Egypt.”

“That makes sense,” Myka almost grumbled, to which Helena giggled and patted the hand at her elbow.

“Don’t get angry, please.”

“About this, or Alexandria?”

“Both, I hope,” Helena answered, lightly but still with enough concern for Myka to lean into her further.

“You forgot, so there’s nothing to be angry about. I reckon that I would forget a thing or two after a hundred years, as well.” She could feel Helena relax a little under her hand and her chest that was gently pressed against the other woman as well. They both took a breath, nervously or in relief, but either way, Myka had more to say. “I need to tell Artie though.”

“Oh, I understand that,” and so, when they had read enough for the day and Claudia rang to let them know that they were back from Vancouver, Myka drove herself and Helena back to the warehouse with Helena’s diary. It sat between the two of them as they drove, but as soon as they were out of the car, it was clutched to Helena’s chest and was not let go of until Myka asked kindly for it upon reaching Artie’s office.

She showed him the diagrams and explained her and Helena’s previous conversation, and with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow, he decided that it would be best for them to head off first thing in the morning to secure it. With Pete and Myka squabbling over who got to go with Helena – Pete arguing that she just wanted to go because it was _with Helena_ , and Myka stating that her desire to go was primarily because of the history – and Claudia resting her eyes for a moment on Artie’s desk, Helena quietly spoke to Artie about what else her sketchings had meant.

“The Minoan Trident?” Artie all but yelled, to which Helena rolled her eyes, having hoped that this conversation would remain at least a little bit private. Thankfully the two squabbling agents were still at it and had not even noticed that Artie and Helena were having this conversation.

“It’s bifurcated, and part of it lies on my daughter’s coffin in France.”

“Well then, that is where you and Myka shall go. Snag it, bag it, and bring it back here, and hopefully Pete and Claudia,” he nudged the young agent at his desk but she only grumbled and turned her head away from the old man to sleep some more. “Will have no issue in concealing the entrance.” At that he snapped his fingers and grabbed his Farnsworth, calling Mrs Frederic in request for an expert on Warehouse 2 to meet Pete and Claudia in Alexandria. With that organised, Artie effectively woke Claudia up this time so that he may book flights for his team, and sent them on their way.

“But why Paris?” Myka asked in the full SUV. Pete was driving and Myka was twisted in the passenger seat to face all three of the other people, although Claudia was asleep again and Helena was awkwardly avoiding her stare. “What’s there that involves the lost warehouse.”

“Or maybe it’s just a ruse,” Pete suggested, warranting not only a light punch in the shoulder, but also a look of bemusement at his use of the word, ‘ruse.’

“Don’t be silly, Pete,” Myka shot, but still glanced around the headrest to see what Helena’s take on his suggestion was. She was looking out the window, or at least facing the window. Myka let it go, because, after all, she was going to be alone very soon with the other woman in Paris, of all places. She turned back in her seat and tried to think nothing more of it as they drove back to the B&B.

Myka had only stayed downstairs in the lounge room for an hour after dinner the night before, and Claudia had been asleep against the armrest of the couch she had been sitting at earlier in the afternoon. She couldn’t figure out why, but she had gotten the odd vibe – borrowing one from Pete perhaps – that Helena had been avoiding her. She understood that the other woman was possibly so retracted from conversation because she hadn’t returned to Paris in those hundred years, and so once Helena had retired to her room for the night, and Pete and shot her knowing glances over the next half hour, she decided to follow, if only just to check that Helena was alright.

“Come in,” her voice came after Myka knocked on the door. She cracked it open and found Helena bustling around the foot of her bed, packing for the next day. When she only continued to hover by the door, Helena dropped her folded shirt into the small suitcase and crossed over to Myka. She slipped her hand into the one that hung by Myka’s side and pulled her into the room. “I said you could come in,” she smiled.

“Sorry, I just...” Myka shrugged, pushing the door closed behind her. “Wanted to check that you were alright,” and Helena let go of her hand to cross back to her suitcase.

“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know how many times you’ve been back to Paris... since Christina,” and that was all she could stammer her way through, seeing how her words made Helena’s ‘a-ok’ wall come down and reveal her to be slightly frightened.

“A few times. But none in this century,” she smiled, as if it were a stab at herself, as if she were blaming herself for not going there as soon as she had been debronzed. She had smiled, but frowned at herself for smiling shortly after, bowing her head and nodding at herself as if to stop herself from crying, or preparing herself to cry.

Myka crossed to her and stepped into the space between Helena and the foot of her bed, slipping her hands gently into the other woman’s and squeezing tightly. “I will be there with you, Helena. I won’t say that you don’t have to worry, but you don’t need to think that you’re alone and that I won’t catch you if you fall.” Her hands were in Helena’s and her eyes were on hers too, and when dark brown ones, glistening with the beginning of tears, looked up to her slowly and hesitantly, she didn’t smile like she normally would. She only blinked back and leaned in, slipping her hands out of Helena’s and up her arms to her back, pulling her into a hug as she pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She lingered on the other woman’s soft skin, feeling its flushed and dry warmth, and then pulled away just enough to duck her head and brush her cheek to where her lips had just been. Helena’s arms wound around her, not at all as cautious as her look up to Myka had been; arms squeezed them together, and fingers clutched at the soft wool of her sweater.

They’d stood hugging for a while, before Helena yawned into Myka’s shoulder and decided that packing could be left until the morning. Another kiss on her cheek, and Myka bid her goodnight, but before she could leave the other woman’s embrace entirely, Helena was leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek as well, her opposite hand cupping Myka’s jaw just as softly.

The warmth of her room, colours and the temperature, was nothing in comparison to that hug, and so it took her a while to fall asleep that night. She hoped that Helena was able to rest adequately before their flight tomorrow, and also that Claudia had been led blindly up to her own room by Leena. When the next hour ticked over, and she still hadn’t fallen asleep, Myka slipped across the hall to check that Claudia was there, and when she saw that she was, still in her clothes from the day, she tip-toed to Helena’s door to check that she was asleep as well. She was, and somehow the knowledge that both of her girls were asleep and safe was enough for Myka to finally feel tired. When her head touched the pillow, she fell asleep.

The next morning came, and when she reached the dining room, she found Claudia slumped over it still tired from the day before. “I left you like this last night, Claud,” Myka said, prompting the young woman to raise her head and look at least half like a human being, albeit one with her eyes still closed. Helena joined them shortly after Myka had sat down, with not a spring in her step, but an energy about her that said she was ready for the day. She was ready and as emotionally prepared as she could be to go to Paris and see her daughter’s grave, see her Christina.


	2. Part Two

Paris had changed so much, so many times, and Helena’s eyes were already aching before they had reached their hotel. She had been turning her head, her eyes latching onto each new spectacle to behold as they drove in the cab from the airport to the hotel, and then later to the estate solicitor’s office. A few things remained the same; the classic architecture, the odd trimming of trees without their leaves, the Eiffel Tower, of course. The serenity of markets along the bridges of the Seine held her focus while they waited at a traffic light, and as Helena watched the old man paint his landscape of the day, Myka watched Helena paint the old city that she had visited before with a hue of sadness and not romance.

Paris was the city of love, but with Helena – and Myka hated how this sounded in her head – Paris became the city of lost love, instead. And she felt that for a moment, too. Late nights dreaming to have one day visited with Sam, talking of how they would waste their days eating cheese in the park, sipping on wine until their heads were floaty. She had dreamed of this with Helena as well, but of course, had never spoken of it – at least she thought not – and that she possibly wouldn’t, or couldn’t because all Helena’s mind saw Paris as, was the place in which Christina had died.

Stepping out of the cab and into the brisk wind, Helena realised that her eyes hurt from holding back tears as well. Not sobs, but the slow weeping that would lace her quieter moments with old diaries or lonely night hours. As she stood on the footpath, people bustling by and Myka edging her way out of the cab after paying, Again Helena became lost in her head and completely neglected to aid Myka in retrieving their cases from the boot of the car. Myka did not mind. She could see that Helena was preoccupied, even in that moment with simply not crying until they reached their room.

And so when they did, and Myka clicked the door closed and turned around, she saw Helena by the foot of the bed facing away from her with her case sitting by her feet, her hand still clutching at the handle. Her head was bowed and an arm bent, and Myka could see in her mind’s eye that the other woman was pinching the bridge of her nose in attempts to regain control of her emotions. It was not working, and when Helena’s shoulders shuddered under a repressed sob, Myka gently strode over to her and pressed her hand to that unsteady shoulder.

Helena spun slowly and turned herself into Myka’s embrace, all in one fluent motion that showed to Myka’s foggy memory of late that this was a level of closeness normal to them now. It had been two years, after all. With this woman that she cared so much for, that she loved so much, crying and feeling completely at a loss for why she would even bring herself back to this city after so long, Myka was quite seriously contemplating catching the next plane out of Paris and returning to the cold dustiness of South Dakota. But they had only one small task to do, and while it was the most emotionally taxing of any that they could undertake, that Helena could be asked to undertake, Myka made a mental note to purchase good wine on their way back to the hotel afterwards.

“We have to go, Helena,” she whispered into the other woman’s hair, and feeling the shirt at her back become more tightly gripped, she continued, trying a little harder to convince this time. “Artie ‘wheeled and dealed’ very hard to get this appointment with the solicitor. This is our only chance.”

“I know, I know,” Helena mumbled, half into Myka’s shoulder and half into her hair as she tilted her chin up and then stepped back. “And we shouldn’t leave part of the first weapon of mass destruction unsupervised on a coffin.” She bit her lip after biting out the words, and then Myka was distracting her by wiping her cheeks with her thumb.

“But we’ll get wine on our way back here and drown ourselves a bit. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Helena hushed. It was all she could manage.

The solicitor was helpful, and quiet when he needed to be, kindly standing around the corner from Christina’s slot so that the two women may have a moment. Essentially, it was two moments; one for Helena to have that moment, and the other to snag the ‘handle’ or first and third prongs of the trident. Myka was replacing the cover to the slot when the solicitor returned, and thankfully didn’t see the distinct lack of handle on the end of the coffin, nor that Helena’s satchel was a little bulkier than it had been ten minutes prior.

Not needing to return to the solicitor’s office for any reason, Helena and Myka linked arms as they headed back towards the end of town where they were staying, deciding to make the most of the clear weather with a nice walk. “Helena,” the curly-haired woman asked as she pushed her hand through those same unruly curls nervously.

“Yes, darling,” she responded, seemingly too focussed with having their steps match up as they strolled along.

“How do you know that the Minoan Trident was the first weapon of mass destruction?”

“You assume that you are the only one who reads?”

“No,” Myka laughed, but hardly thought that it was that simple. Part of it was, more or less, in Helena’s possession, and so, “but surely reading about it would not account for part of it being on Christina’s coffin.”

“Myka,” Helena said, stopping them in their tracks and turning to face her, matching steps be damned. “You are quite right, and dare I say quite right about many a thing that I have brushed off or bluffed about, but this point in particular... well, it isn’t as benign as many of those other things.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, my darling,” _my?_ Myka heard. “Is that I would rather not have this conversation in the middle of a Parisian street, nor sober.”

“So...”

“So, how about getting that wine then?”

Soon enough, Myka was carrying a bottle of rosé in a paper bag under her left arm whilst her right was again linked with Helena’s and their steps had matched up again. They passed that same bridge over the Seine where the man was painting earlier in the day, and his masterpiece was now complete and dry. It was a wind-swept scene, with a woman in a black coat and a red umbrella walking through the rain and fallen autumn leaves. Her hair was out and floating on the crisp wind, and Myka did not know why, but her heart said that it was Helena.

She purchased that painting with Helena clinging even more tightly to her arm as she handed over her euros. Part of her wanted to turn her head and kiss Helena then, the moment feeling strangely akin to those she had dreamed of experiencing with either of the people she had been in love with in her life. This wasn’t it, though. They weren’t on holiday, and they weren’t a couple. But she was carrying a bottle of pricey wine that she intended to get at least a little drunk on with Helena, and had just bought a sweet little painting for no other reason than it reminded her of Helena.

They weren’t a couple, but they were a something. Weren’t they?

A block from their hotel, and they stood at another set of traffic lights and Myka’s ribs were sore from Helena’s nudging every time their steps had become out of sync because Myka wasn’t focussing. Now they stood, and she was not getting nudged, but rather nuzzled as the afternoon chill picked up and the sweeping past of cars blew colder air onto their faces, and Helena sought to hide herself.

She was pressed against Myka’s arm, her own hand now interlaced with the other woman’s and her other gripping at her bicep. Her eyes stung in the cold air from tears shed and still unshed, and she could feel the stain of those that had broken free on her cheek. Rubbing that cheek against Myka’s shoulder, she felt the taller woman turn to look at her by the way her wayward curls tickled across her forehead. She tilted her head up, and she didn’t know if it was from knowing the feeling of such tears as well, or from the happy moment of that painting, but either way they were both lost in those few seconds before the traffic stopped and they held up the pedestrians.

The cars across the roads slowed and the people around them prepared to step off onto the crossing, but Helena’s eyes were on Myka’s as Myka’s eyes were on hers, and then on her lips as she leant down and pressed a whispered kiss to them. The city of love and its lovers didn’t seem to mind, happily passing around them to cross as they stood, lips pressed lightly to each other, the wind in their hair and their hands holding.

And then it was over as softly and slowly as it had happened and they crossed the street in the last few rings of the crossing light. A few more steps, still as tightly latched to each other as ever, and they reached their hotel and sighed thankfully at the warm stillness upon walking into the lobby. They took the elevator back up to their room, and would’ve continued to hold onto each other if it wasn’t for them now feeling exceptionally warm through their thick woollen coats. They were discarded upon entering their room and the wine was put into the fridge for later. Helena suggested opening it already, just for a little happy hour drink, but Myka offered instead to treat them to a drink at the hotel bar, as it was a rather flash place.

It was not yet sunset, and so they spent the next hour relaxing and resting their feet, lounging on their queen-sized bed without boots or socks, spreading their toes to stretch them and air them, and flicking through various international news channels until they settled on an afternoon cartoon network. Myka left it on that to appease Pete, even though he was not there, but Helena didn’t mind. She was quite content to simply be in possession of the artifact, and in at least slight control of her emotions. Her contentedness ran to her lips too, of which she was constantly biting gently in memory of Myka’s lips being there.

Next that Myka looked over to her right, Helena was laying peacefully with her eyes closed. It had been an exhausting flight and then an even more exhausting day, and Myka knew that the other woman would usually grow tired from only battling a windy day. On top of that was emotion and jetlag, and maybe the other woman’s mind had been whirring around trying to understand that kiss, just as much as Myka’s mind was in that moment.

With a heavy sigh, she figured that a short nap might be a good idea, and if her mind was not to quiet, then perhaps resting her eyes would at least be of some benefit. She turned down the volume on the television, using its background hum to prevent her from falling into a deep sleep, and nestled down next to Helena. She edged onto her side, facing Helena, and breathed in a settling breath, bringing in the other woman’s intoxicating scent as well.

Myka had long forgotten the specifics of that smell; what flower was laced in with that warm earthy essence. Now, it was simply Helena, and the thought of her life without that scent, lining the hallways of the B&B, or clinging to the cushions on the couch, her home didn’t feel like home. Simply, Helena had become her home, or at least a part of it.

She wriggled a bit closer, wanting to smother herself in the other woman’s scent and embrace. First, she shifted on her shoulder, then brought her hips closer, and finally her feet came over to bump against Helena’s. The other woman didn’t shift at all in response to give more space, only slightly moved herself closer to Myka as well.

Helena was still lying on her back, her hands resting on her stomach, and her ankles crossed, but at Myka’s nudge, she uncrossed them and slipped her left one underneath Myka’s, tangling them together slightly. Her hips edged as well, and soon Helena had become so close to Myka that she could easily drape her arm over the sleeping woman and, if she felt like it, pull her even closer. And she did feel like it.

Dragging her heavy eyes up Helena’s sleeping form, to her jaw and cheek, usually so defined but now adorably tucked in on itself, and she no longer wanted to drape her arm over Helena. She wanted to caress that cheek and turn her head towards her so that her jawline and neck became more exposed again. Hesitantly, she raised her hand, and brought her annoyingly clammy fingertips to the other woman’s face and whispered her kisses onto her.

“I’m not asleep,” Helena’s voice came grumbly, and rudely shocking, sending Myka to fling herself onto her back, hand to chest to ease the heart attack she swore she almost had. “Oh, Myka,” she now laughed at her partner’s expense.

“Not funny,” Myka tried to protest through her smile.

“Sorry to have startled you, darling.”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me, Helena. I almost had a heart attack,” Myka was still protesting, despite her heart rate easing and only staying slightly fluttery and nervous because she had been caught loving on Helena.

“I thought my moving of my feet would’ve shown you that I was awake.”

“But you could’ve done that subconsciously.”

“You’re quite right; even asleep I want to be closer to you,” Helena cooed, and Myka had no verbal response to that that could match a simple turn of her head to gaze at the other woman with a soft smile. She nervously bit on her bottom lip, blinking slowly at the other woman, not at all knowing where to go from there. Helena seemed to instead, for she rolled towards Myka, bumping feet again, and raised her hand to the curls that were obstructing Myka’s face only slightly. She tucked them behind her ear and continued contact by touching the jawline now revealed, just as had been done to her, and dragged her fingertips down to that worried lip.

“No biting,” she said, and Myka’s lip popped out, and Helena was tempted to kiss it better. There was nothing stopping her from doing so; after all, she had already been kissed that day, but after one hundred years, her conscience seemed to kick in and she couldn’t comfortably, rightfully by Myka in any way, do so. She wanted to kiss her, and forget happy hour downstairs in the bar, and enjoy the wine on her lips only after she had tasted Myka first; she knew that if she did kiss the woman beneath her, beneath her fingertips, she wouldn’t stop.

So, she pulled away, her fingers burning once they left Myka’s skin, and she looked over to the bedside clock. Coupled with the distinct lack of sun glare making its way into their room Helena surmised that it was late enough for happy hour now, perhaps even some early dinner. Almost on cue, Myka’s tummy rumbled and they shared a smile, deciding to head downstairs.

Myka was hungry, but she was also uneasy in her chest as to why Helena had pulled away. It could be any number of things, but they all seemed to make Myka worry more when she thought on them. Paris wasn’t the right time or place, but when would be? Maybe Helena simply didn’t want to kiss her, so had she been wrong to kiss her before? She could be waiting until later, until they’d had wine, so did Helena not feel she could make a move unless under the influence?

Myka sat at the bar, her purely sweaty hand clutched around a vodka tonic, staring into its clarity, wishing her mind was at least half as much. Helena sat beside her, on her own stool, but close enough to be brushing elbows, and she could feel her worry seep through the contact. Sensing the question on Helena’s lips, she answered her before it was asked. “You; I’m worrying about you.”

“Why?” and Myka didn’t know how it was possible, but she had no explanation. She had dot points in her mind of what she was worried about, but when it came to ‘why,’ she was at a loss. She could only turn on her stool, releasing her grip on her drink, to look into Helena’s eyes, hoping that the answer lay there. The decadence of the bar in which they sat held no comparison to the magic of Helena, and it ate away at her.

Time seemed to pass so slowly before Helena found a sentence in her mind that she could use. She filtered out confessions of want and love, and simply launching into her prepared speech about her plan to end the world, and found that while Myka was worrying if Paris was the right time and place, Helena knew that this bar was not. “Finish your drink, and we’ll go back upstairs.” Myka did not complain, only turned back to her drink and sipped at it, before turning that sip into a gulp and her drink was gone.

Helena was a little more kind on herself and really did sip at her martini until it was gone, and rested her hand on Myka’s in that time so that the other woman did not grow insane with waiting. Her hand remained there, on Myka’s, in hers, as they left the bar and made their way back to the elevator, then along the hallway to their room, and once the door was shut, she used it to pull Myka to her and kiss her. “Do not worry about me, please,” she whispered against warm lips. Myka responded by bringing their lips back together with the force of that worry, burning and intoxicatingly bruising.

When they parted to breathe again, foreheads resting on each other as Helena rested on the wall, needing its support for her legs were failing her, Myka nervously bit her own lip again. “No biting,” Helena hushed again, running her thumb down the taller woman’s chin. Keeping foreheads close, Myka shook her head and moved back in, taking Helena’s lip between her teeth instead. Helena moaned and regretted herself already, before she had even pushed Myka away, for when she did she was met with saddened eyes of love that she couldn’t bear. “No biting,” came again. “I need to talk to you.”

“Later,” Myka begged, her hands grasping at Helena’s hips with more marking intention than they had been a moment ago.

“No, Myka,” and her hips were released and she opened her eyes to see that they had the space of their small entrance hallway between them. “I want this, I want _you_ , more than...” she took a breath, because she had been telling herself for so long that this was more than just wanting, so why wasn’t she telling Myka that. “I love you, more than I ever meant to, but thank god I did. Because I realised something.”

At Myka’s questioning look, she relinked their hands and led her to the bed so that she could sit the other woman down while she rambled. Myka tucked her legs up nervously and crossed them, and when she nodded that she was ready, that rambling began. Words of destruction and ending the world, remembering anger and the whole plan stuck to Myka’s brain, no matter how much she tried to shake them because it hadn’t actually happened, so she logically need not worry. But she couldn’t shake Helena’s repeated use of the word ‘betray,’ and how it could’ve ended so badly, so lonely. Her mind seemed to glaze over and grow hot, hotter than her lips, and she didn’t hear every word that Helena was saying anymore.

But then she was kneeling down in front of her and grabbing her hands, and so Myka came back. “But I realised... we make a good team?”

“Yeah, we do,” Myka’s voice cracked.

“And I realised that, and no matter how angry I am or was at the world, I don’t want to lose that, Myka. I don’t want to lose you.” They faded, the words of betrayal and ending; anger remained but it was softened and understood by love. She couldn’t smile, because it wasn’t that easy to forgive, or forget, but she blinked and her frown eased. She uncrossed her legs as she pulled at Helena’s hands, bringing her up and closer to her, onto her, and through the mumbling of her name, Helena began kissing her again, and Myka began biting again.

“Myka!” and it wasn’t a mumble anymore; her eyes shot open at Pete’s worried calling, and she was lying on the cold warehouse floor, tiny bone clutched in her hand, and lips feeling dry and cool. “Are you okay?”

“I... what happened, Pete?” she asked, his hand coming down to meet hers. She groaned as she stood, her fall to the ground a lot harsher than she had thought.

“Have you been whammied?” he asked, turning her around to check for broken bones, and then motioning for her to put the artifact back.

“Oh... maybe.”

“Maybe?” he asked, continuing to fuss over her.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple of seconds. Why?”

“I thought I dreamt something,” she whispered, and he stopped checking her, turning her around, raising her arms, tapping her joints listening for cracks.

“But you’re okay?”

“Yeah... just... tired?”

“Okay, well, let’s put that back and Artie can check you out. Then home for some rest, missy,” he said in his most authoritative voice. She smiled, and turned to the case where the bone was supposed to be placed, reading its information screen as she did. Something about the world’s first wishbone, and how it didn’t grant wishes but rather showed the person affected what their wish could have been. Myka also felt as if it showed that wishes could come true, because her wish wouldn’t have played out with so much love and affection if it hadn’t really already been there, right?

~ ~ ~ ~

Artie couldn’t answer her questions, because she wasn’t exactly sure if she should ask them, nor that Artie would be willing to give relationship advice and have a gossip about love lives over coffee. Claudia might be able to, but in the end, the person out of the whole team who had worked and spent the most time with Helena was Myka, so she was sort of the best person she could ask.

Once she was given the all clear, and Artie was sure that no side effects of any kind may plague her, he allowed Myka to head home for some rest. She insisted that she was tired, her mind a bit flustered and could use a nap. Others were fine to let her go, and Claudia was not happy, but was as enthusiastic as could be to take over her inventory. Once the office was free, and Pete was preparing to follow down to the floor as well, Artie stopped him with a suspicious look in his eye. “What, Artie?”

“The wishbone.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“There are no side effects,” he reiterated.

“Yeah, I know. You just said it to Mykes like five minutes ago. Is Claudia right?” he asked ducking his head to check the older man. “Are you getting too old for the job?”

“Stop it,” Artie grumbled, in such a tone that Pete knew he was fine. “What I mean is that if there are no side effects, then there should be no logical reason for Myka’s sudden fatigue.”

“Ohhhh, so you think she has an ulterior motive, eh?”

“Ulterior motive for what?” Claudia’s voice sprung into the conversation. At the stare from the two men in the room, she opened Artie’s drawer and waved around a static bag that she had forgotten. “I don’t wanna get whammied if Pete spooks me too.”

“Hey, she spooked me as well,” Pete pointed out, for as Myka had grabbed for the wishbone and fallen, Pete had also been startled, but was able to maintain his balance.

“Whatever,” Artie jumped in. “What could she be hiding?”

“Maybe it has to do with the wishbone?”

“Nah, Artie just said there are no side effects,” Pete explained.

“No,” Claudia began to clarify. “I mean, what if she had experienced her wish, you know, dreamed it like Artie said might happen, and so she knows what her wish was. So, now she’s going after it.”

“Maybe... maybe,” Artie pondered, retaking his seat to think. “What would her wish have been?”

“If Sam hadn’t been killed?” Pete suggested, knowing that whenever Sam was mentioned or brought up, a whole other side of Myka seemed to take over, a sad and wishful one.

“Possibly...”

“But wasn’t that an artifact? And you’ve solved it and,” Claudia continued. “Spoiler alert, he’s still dead, so she can’t be out trying to get him back.”

“That she hadn’t been sent here?”

“It’s her happiest place, Pete, you know that,” Artie said, slightly offended that he still thought that Myka might think so lowly of the warehouse.

“But it’s also been her saddest sometimes.”

“True.”

“Oh!” Claudia jumped, seemingly on to something. “It’s also been her saddest, yeah?”

“Yeah, Claud. I just said that,” Pete drawled, rolling his eyes. “Is no one listening today?”

“But why was it her saddest place? Who came and made it happier, but then left, and made it...”

“A place that she couldn’t stay. That she couldn’t trust herself at. That...” Pete emphasised by the ‘a-ha’ raising pointing of his finger. “She was sad at.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Claudia chimed, high-fiving Pete for their joint ability to solve the puzzle.

“I’m lost,” Artie butted in.

“Oh, my god, Artemis,” Claudia groaned.

“Artie, it’s H.G.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding at last.

“’Ah’ as in, ‘I get it,’ or ‘ah’ as in, ‘I don’t get it but we have work to do so I’m appeasing you’?” Claudia asked.

“Ah, I get it, because Myka and H.G loved each other,” Artie explained, warranting a slight look of shock on Claudia’s face because she hadn’t thought him attune enough to have realised that. But then again, she thought, neither Helena or Myka had fully realised it either.

“So, do we just let her go?” Pete asked.

“I’m not gonna get in the way of true love,” Artie mumbled, turning back to his computer.

“Same. Come on, Lattimer. I’ll race you,” Claudia snapped her gloves at him, and then they were off and Artie didn’t both yelling after them to not run, because he knew they wouldn’t listen.

~ ~ ~ ~

Last Myka had known – and she knew because she still called her – Helena was still in Boone. They hadn’t spoken for nearing a month, and so it was a bit of a gamble, but she was willing to take that risk anyway. She thought back on her time working with Helena at the warehouse, or even since with the other woman’s conscience the only thing that Myka could interact with, and then again when Walter Sykes was threatening ruin. She thought back on it all and smiled thoughtfully as she saw how many risks she had taken for Helena already. Not always big ones, but little ones that cemented their friendship outside of cases and artifacts.

Little ones like the morning everyone had been out of the B&B for whatever reason, and so she had made a rather lavish breakfast for the two of them to feast on. She knew Pete would be jealous, both of the food and the gesture, but then again Myka had never wanted to kiss him at all, had she? Or the risk she had taken in trusting Helena in the first place. Yes, it hadn’t ended well – and could’ve ended so much worse, but she gained a friend in that time anyway, one that was closer in some ways to her than any person had ever been. And then again when Helena was on the Janus Coin and she was summoned to assist on various cases; she trusted her, perhaps too willingly, too quickly, but it paid off.

Even the risks that hadn’t paid off, that hadn’t ended well, that had almost ruined so many friendships, Myka realised that she would make the same choices given the chance again. Except one...

She drove until her back was sore and her stomach was rumbling louder than the radio, and so she pulled over for a break at a gas station, stocking up on pre-made sandwiches and Twizzlers before she stretched and cracked her back and returned to the car.

The remaining drive to Boone was slow, and Myka ended up having to tell herself not to look at the clock, even if it felt like a large amount of time had passed. It had not. She tried to focus on the songs, but the radio was less than entertaining. It was the only one that seemed to be working this far out into the middle of nowhere, and so she had to suffer anyway. She wished she’d packed a CD or something. Finally, a somewhat good song came on, and she felt as if she’d been waiting a year for it to play, but then of course, as fate would have it, she saw the exit sign for Boone.

Turning the radio down as she drove further into town, she went off memory to reach Nate and Adelaide’s house. She parked and waited for at least a minute before getting out, realising that she hadn’t planned on a thing to say should Helena answer the door. Or if she was even there. She kicked herself out of the car, being her own Pete-with-a-pep-talk; “you can do this, Bering. You can talk to her. She’ll be happy to see you,” and then she was knocking on the door and she heard the distinct sound of socks shuffling along hardwood floors. Claudia did that sometimes.

The door swung open and she smiled, but then had to adjust her eye level, because it was Adelaide at the door and she was smiling, too. “Hi, Adelaide,” she said, hoping that the young girl remembered her.

“Myka! How are you?”

“I’m... very well. How are you?”

“Busy researching the first world war,” the young girl answered, sounding a special sort of excited about her homework, much like Myka used to.

“For school, or for fun?”

“School. But researching is fun.”

“I agree,” she answered with a wink. No one ever seemed to understand how exciting learning a new fact could be, but Myka was used to that by now.

They smiled at each other for a moment longer before Adelaide spoke again, and it relieved Myka as well as worried her. “Helena doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“My dad and she.... She and my dad,” Adelaide corrected herself, and again Myka smiled in recognition. “They decided that it was time for her to go. It wasn’t the same after you visited that time.”

“I’m sorry,” Myka said, because she was. She had never wanted to rock the boat or change things that were good, no matter how much it had broken her heart. Helena had looked happy, and so wanting of that normal, and so she had stepped aside.

“Don’t be. She sat me down and told me how she cared for my dad, but she didn’t love him.” Myka didn’t know what to say, and she felt sheepish and intrusive all of a sudden to be standing in the doorway of a house that she had sought Helena to be in, but she wasn’t, and so she was essentially there for nothing. “She said that she loved someone else,” and Adelaide was a smart child, Myka knew that, and even more, Adelaide knew that and looked up at Myka in a way that told her that she knew exactly who Helena had spoken of.

“She did?” Myka heard her voice echoing. She supposed that she knew as much, but then again, did she really?

“Yes. She still does. We talk about it sometimes, after school. Then she tells me to do my homework, so I do.”

“You still talk to her?”

“Yep,” the young girl answered, obviously glad to still have Helena in her life, even if she wasn’t in her home. Myka could understand that.

“On the phone?”

“Sometimes. Other times at her house. She bakes now.”

“At her house?” and Myka thought that maybe stopping by this house hadn’t been a waste of time anymore.

“On the other side of town,” and Adelaide smiled at Myka’s smile. “Do you want the address?”

“Yes, please,” and so then Myka waved goodbye to Adelaide and jumped back in her car, and was glad for the speed limit signs everywhere to control her; she felt that she might speed the whole way across Boone to reach Helena’s little cottage of a house. It was so Helena.

If Myka hadn’t been the one driving, and therefore needing to park and turn the car off, she felt as if she would’ve been jumping out of the car as soon as she pulled into the driveway. She couldn’t be sure, but she swore that she saw the curtain drop away as she was coming to the house. Her heart was racing either way and as she stepped up to the front porch, hovering her nervously sweaty hand by her side in preparation to knock. She took a deep breath, then a more shallow one, and then it was stolen as the door swung open and there stood Helena.

“Myka?” Helena asked, not because she wasn’t sure that it was really her, but because she wasn’t sure if it was really her, standing there, with tears in her eyes? “What...”

“I got whammied,” and that wasn’t at all what Myka had first meant to say – “hi, how are you?” or even “may I come in?” or even just a simple, “hey,” but no – and she was diving straight into this story that she had just lived, or rather dreamt and now hoped that she wasn’t wasting time, because she didn’t want to waste any more time.

“With what? Are you okay?” Helena asked, more concerned than she really needed to be, but she was ushering Myka in just the same.

“Yeah, it was this wishbone and I didn’t even mean to wish, but then I was in Paris with you and it was windy and rainy and I bought a painting... Oh man, I wish I actually had that painting... but anyway,” and she continued on and on as Helena stood worried, and then confused, and then exhausted and Myka hadn’t even gotten to the realisation part. Helena felt that she would need some tea, and that the other woman could use a cup as well, if only to shut her up long enough to ask questions of her own, and so she headed to the kitchen without even asking for the other Myka to follow her, because she knew she would.

“And then I... well, we both...”

“Myka,” Helena interjected, the kettle boiling in the background. “Please sit so that you may explain this all to me a little more clearly. Give me the highlights, the important bits.”

“Ok, I-“ Myka began off that same breath that she had just been on.

“Take a deep breath,” and when she did, Helena motioned for her to continue.

“Ok,” Myka said, and took another breath for good measure, and now that she wasn’t rambling, she felt quite the strong rush of nerves again. But she licked her lips, biting her bottom one, before popping it out, and starting again. “I was doing inventory. Pete startled me and I grabbed an artifact as it fell. It was a wishbone, _the_ wishbone, and I hadn’t even meant to, but I wished.”

“Did it come true?” Helena asked, stepping back to the kettle as it reached a boil.

“No... well, yes. But in a dream. Pete said I was only out for a few seconds but it was long enough for me to have wished this thing and then experience the sort of parallel universe in which this thing that I wished had happened... happened. And it was nice. And you were there. And...”

“And?” Helena prompted, setting aside their poured teas to step closer to Myka and lean her hip on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“And you said you loved me. I woke up and Pete was there, but I couldn’t be. I had to get to you. I had to tell you.” She paused for a moment, pressing her lips together, feeling slightly frustrated at herself for not being able to put into words just how her mind, her body, her heart and lips felt when Helena was there in front of her or even just being whispered in the chaos of her brain. She continued her story instead. “I got this address because I went to your old place, to Adelaide’s and Nate’s place, and you weren’t there, so Adelaide told me your new address.”

“Oh,” Helena said, nodding for now she understood how Myka had managed to find her, not that she was hiding.

“She also told me that,” Myka added, dropping her head so that she didn’t meet the other woman’s gaze. “You left Nate because you loved someone else. That you _love_ someone else.”

“I do,” and it was hushed so quietly that Myka almost didn’t hear it past the thrumming of her ears, but she did, and she looked up.

“I do,” she echoed, as a reaffirmation of Helena saying it, but also because she did too. She loved Helena.

“What was your wish?” Helena asked, because she knew all about this story, and that there was a perfect painting that existed only in Myka’s mind of her in a black coat walking down a windy Parisian street, but not of what the wish was.

“That you had realised that we made a good team, and that we...” she dropped off, and her eyes followed Helena as she stepped closer and knelt down in front of her. The other woman’s hands rested on Myka’s knees and she instinctively covered them with her own before continuing. “But I guess, you realised that anyway now... I don’t know,” she faltered, her eyes casting down to Helena’s lips, her bottom one of which was bring nervously bitten. She half cocked a smile at that, before her eyes flicked back up to searching brown ones. “I guess I wish I’d realised earlier too. That I loved you, because maybe I would’ve said something or somehow changed something, and we...”

Before Myka could recover her sentence from tapering off, she felt her knees being pushed apart and Helena was pressing between them, moving through and leaning up to her as her hands slid up her thighs. She pulled Myka closer to her by the waistband of her jeans, and finally, _finally_ they were sharing the same breath. “I wish I’d realised earlier, too,” she simply whispered, and oh, the weighty truth in that sentence made her almost moan before her lips had even touched Myka’s. Then they did, and all the rambled words of wishes and what if’s faded from their lips.

It was soft and just enough, and Helena leaned back to see if ‘just enough’ could become ‘just the start,’ biting her lip nervously as her eyes asked. Myka took her in, warm eyes with dilated pupils, small strands of hair falling in her face which she gently pushed aside, tucking behind her ears lovingly, and that bitten lip; she couldn’t resist. “No biting,” she said, running her thumb down the other woman’s chin, before taking that lip in between her own teeth instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this little piece that had started out as a one-shot, but hey! I can't shut up about these two :P Chat to me on tumblr at sapphos-throne xo

**Author's Note:**

> I reckon now that if I ever got my shit and luck together and made a reboot of WH13, this could be somehow turned int oan episode... for now, I shall dream and you all can read. Over on tumblr at sapphos-throne if y'all wanna talk xo


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